


Plans

by sddeer



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sddeer/pseuds/sddeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-ME3. Shepard gets released from the hospital and takes Garrus on a day trip to see some of Earth’s more common domestic animals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plans

As soon as Shepard was out of the hospital—which, granted, was nearly three months after the Citadel had been destroyed and the Reapers defeated, and was still two months earlier than any of the medical staff actually wanted to see her released—she told Garrus she had plans for them.

“Not that I mind, but how can you have plans already?” he asked, sitting in a too-small chair and filling out the forms for her release. She was fidgeting in her wheelchair next to him, and he put a hand on her leg. She stilled.

“Savior of life as we know it and general Master of the Galaxy, and they still make me leave the hospital in a wheelchair.”

The pen in Garrus’s hand paused when he looked over at her, noting how her eyes lit up when they met his. She was plotting mischief. Spirits, how he missed mischief. ”Well, Master of the Galaxy, I seem to recall you getting woozy the last time you stood up for too long and collapsing on some very expensive monitoring equipment.”

“It was only fifty thousand creds of damage, and I think I donated more than enough to cover it!” she protested.

“I can’t believe you made them name the hospital after you.”

She shrugged. “And why not? ‘Shepard Memorial Hospital and Outpatient Care’ is a good name.”

“SheM-HOC? And how can it be a memorial if you’re still alive?”

“Hey, I died!”

Garrus chuckled and shook his head. “Alright, that’s the last signature. I don’t like writing with human characters, though. I miss datapads. How long until we get the galactic text translators back online?”

“I killed all the Reapers and nearly died doing it, and you’re complaining about having to write in a foreign language?”

“Yes.”

Shepard gave him a shove. “Come on, you delicate turian flower, wheel me out of here so we can go.”

Old human automobiles were funny things, but Garrus had dutifully learned how to operate them when the blast from the Crucible rendered hover technology useless. They were like the Mako, only more destructible and far less nauseating. He helped Shepard into the passenger seat and closed the door for her. They drove. They drove and drove.

“Do you know that outside of London, the cars drive on the other side of the road?” he marveled. “How do they switch sides without accidents?”

“No, not outside of London. Outside of England, I think,” Shepard corrected. “Turn left up here.”

Garrus frowned. “That’s not a road.”

“I think I see tire tracks. And I’m your Commander, you do what I say!”

He dutifully turned down the designated path, but not without reminding her, “War’s over, Shepard.”

“War’s never over.” She looked over at him and caught his eye. He nodded at her. Then she sat up straight, pointing to an old barn in front of them. “That’s our mark! Bring us in!”

“What, am I Joker, now?”

“Well, you’re driving!”

“I’m using my legs!”

“Just pull over and park there by the fence.”

Garrus did. He got out of the car and went around to Shepard, opening the door for her and holding out his hand like they did in very old human vids that she insisted were ‘cheesy.’ Garrus had never had cheese. He wasn’t sure he understood the significance. “So, what, you brought me to a farm?” he asked.

Shepard shook her head and took his hand, climbing out of the car and hugging his arm for support. She probably shouldn’t have left the hospital so early. She probably should have kept the wheelchair. Damned if she was going to stay there another day, though. It took a lot of bullying to convince the doctors she was more of a hazard to them if she stayed than she was to herself if she left. There was also the trivial matter of them signing her into Garrus’ care. She promised to listen to all of his instructions when it came to caring for her, and judging by the look of extreme amusement on his face, she could tell that Garrus knew before she opened her mouth that those promises were all lies.

“Stop asking questions and come here,” she ordered. An older man met them at the gate and smiled at Shepard, and she let go of Garrus with one arm to shake his hand. “Nice to see you. Can we come in?” Garrus wondered what relation she had to him, if any, or if she had called him at random and used her status to get him to let them… what, look at his crops?

And Shepard was tugging at his arm, leading him through the wooden doors, past some stalls, and outside into a maze of musty pens filled with various animals. “It’s a petting zoo!” she announced.

He looked at her sharply, pulling off a glove and setting his hand on her cheek. No fever. He held her head still to examine her eye movement. “Maybe I should bring you back to the hospital,” he murmured, clearly concerned.

She moved her head away from his hand. “Come on, Vakarian. You spent how many years asking me to tell you about the animals that we… well, mostly the animals that we eat, but now you have a chance to see them. And pet them!”

“Pet them?” He immediately slipped his glove back on. With a weary sigh, he gave in. “All right, Shepard. You saved the galaxy. I guess we can look at some animals.” He allowed her to lead him to the first pen, which was surrounded with a mesh metal fence. “What are these?”

Shepard looked proud of herself. “Those are chickens.”

Garrus took his arm from her and knelt, peering at the birds. Shepard put her hand on his shoulder and leaned on him. “Chicken?” he said solemnly to the one pecking at the ground closest to the fencing. “Everything tastes like you. Jimmy would eat you if he could. Cook you up with one of his ‘abuela’s’ recipes.” It seemed unconcerned with this information.

Shepard bit back laughter. “Do you want to pet it?”

“N-no. I’ll pet an animal that looks less… sharp. Like- say, what’s this one?” He stood and returned his arm to her so they could walk to a four-legged creature with curved horns and a wiry beard reminiscent of mandibles. It was perched on the roof of the chicken hutch, right at eye level. When they approached, it let out a loud ‘bra-a-ah!’ Garrus’ eyes widened with delight and he reached out a hand.

“Careful, that’s a goat. He’ll bite yo- oh. Aww.” Shepard’s warning came too late. The goat had snatched Garrus’ glove and was chewing on it.

“Give that back,” he chastised it fondly, grabbing the glove out of its mouth and scratching its nose. He pet it for a moment, then glanced around the pens. An animal on the far side of the zoo caught his eye, and he stiffened. “Shepard…” His voice was soft and tense. “That’s a cow.”

She was about to ask him what was wrong, but then he was patting at his sides, growling what she had learned were untranslatable turian curses. She realized he was reaching for a gun but was unarmed; it was one of the conditions of releasing Shepard that she not have access to any weapons. Not that it could stop her from using her biotics, but they figured the war had scrambled her brain enough that adding guns to the mix wasn’t a good idea. Hell, she hadn’t even mentioned most of what happened on the Citadel to the psychiatric evaluators. Only Garrus knew everything. Joker knew more than most—she owed that to him. And everyone else got information on a need-to-know basis. Nobody needed to know.

“Garrus, calm down,” she whispered, tightening her hold of his arm. “They’re not the same.”

“Do you remember the space-cows?” he shot back. “You can’t trust them. Look at their eyes, it’s eery. Where are their hands?”

Shepard was shoving him toward the cow. “I just said that those crazy animals reminded me of cows, not that they were actually related to them. Look, she’s gentle.”

“Shepard, I- No!” Garrus dug in his toes a few feet from the cow pen. For a severely injured woman who wasn’t supposed to be out of the hospital, she continued to be surprisingly strong. “I want to go back to the goat!” he protested. “No, don’t touch it!”

She was petting the cow’s muzzle with one hand, and slowly but surely forcing his hand closer and closer to her flank. Signing Shepard out of the hospital was looking to be an even worse idea as seconds passed. With an absolutely devilish grin, she tore off his glove and pressed his hand against the cow’s side. He closed his eyes and made a strangled sound as though he were having his arm sawed off with a dull blade.

When she finally released his arm, she stumbled a bit, grabbing around his waist to steady herself. She really should have taken that wheelchair. Despite his unhappiness with the situation, Garrus already had his hand on her side, supporting her.

“It’s over, Garrus,” she smiled up at him, holding out his glove as a peace offering.

He returned her gaze somberly. “It’s never over, Shepard.”

She cackled.


End file.
